


Sun and Stars

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: And also sad and introspective talks about youth, F/M, Masquerade, Outdoor Sex, Rough Sex, Trials and Tricks fic, also a bitchy little bitch knight, and body paint, and it is rather drunken, btw Jon's dick has a nickname, in a gods wood, in which sexy sex happens, it's Balerion, sex fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 13:34:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4102816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jon and Sansa dress up as the sun and the stars (Daenerys is the moon), they have a run in with a knightly douche, they have a deep conversation about their lost youth and all of their bad memories, and then deal with those bad memories by having hot, filthy sex in the Red Keep's godswood. </p><p>One of the lines in this is, "May I stab him now, Sweetling?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun and Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, this is un-beta'd, so beware. But I hope you like it. I needed to get over the shitty dirt pile that has been this season. So I bring you some happy sex fic.

Sansa had carried the name Targaryen for seven years. Despite this, she never grew accustomed to the idea of being one. “Princess” had not been too hard getting used to--- she’d spent years of her childhood dreaming of carrying that exact title. However, hearing anyone refer to her as “Sansa Targaryen” still tended to make her do a double-take.

Tonight, however, she found herself feeling a little more fit for the name as she sat at her dressing table. Her red hair was temporarily being pinned up as Bridget, her maid, applied gold powder to her skin. The maid got Sansa’s arms, her neck, the lower half of her face, and even her chest so that her skin had a luminescent, fiery glow to it.

The whole treatment had itself an audience of sorts. Naerys, six years old with her father’s dark curls and Targaryen violet eyes, sat in her night rail, little knees tucked under the skirt. Robb, five, red-haired and similarly attired with a stuffed wolf hugged to his chest, stared at his mother with big blue eyes that mirrored her own.

The heir to Winterfell wasn’t the only man in the room who was staring.

Jon Targaryen sat before a full-length mirror in his tunic and leggings as Satin, his personal steward, applied spots of silver paint to his hair and beard.

The prince had protested and complained when his wife first came to him with her idea for their masque costumes. Sansa had known he would, which was why she made a point of proposing it in front of their family. It seemed a fun idea to her, and she’d wanted to do something creative for their first masquerade, so she decided on the sun and the moon.  Jon refused outright to “do something as ridiculous as white my hair for the sake of a party”. Dany agreed to be the moon instead “I was the Moon of Drogo’s life, I am happy to be the moon again.”

However, the children kept begging Jon to the point where he finally agreed that he’d go as the night’s sky instead--- dotted with stars. Only little dots of paint and powder would be required. He only agreed to that thanks to the wide-eyed, quivering-lipped, pleading look Naerys gave him--- The same look her father found impossible to resist. He still complained about the prospect of “being painted like a gilded peacock” for days.

But now that he was actually being painted, he wasn’t complaining. His attention was too fixed on his wife, sitting at her dressing table in her smallclothes and breast band as her maid painted her breasts gold.

Sansa tried not to smirk. She’d promised her husband that his patience would be worth his while. She had a feeling she was proving it now.

“My back and arms as well, Bridget,” Sansa reminded the maid. She caught sight of her husband, the knot of his throat bobbing when he heard her say that. _Not complaining so much now, are you? See? Being painted isn’t so bad._

Of course, he’d have to wait to act on whatever feelings this little display was inspiring. There were the children, of course, and the servants. And they had a night’s festivities ahead of them. Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little heat as well, though, nor could she help the shiver that went through her as Bridget dabbed the powdery paint onto her shoulders and back.

By the time her maid finished her lower back, the upper part of her body was dry enough for her hair--- styled to fall in flowing waves of red--- was released from the pins and allowed to fall around her shoulders and back.

Next came her mask--- a short little veil of gold lace that covered the top of her head and her eyes, pinned on by a gold circlet studded with fire opals. Yellow ribbons hung from the back of the veil, mingling with her red hair.

“Your Grace, time to dress,” Satin said, tapping his prince on the shoulder, “We’re done.”

“Huh?” Jon always sounded so cute when he was confused.

Sansa stood at the same time her husband did, as she was ready to put her clothes on as well. She looked over at Jon and smiled. “That wasn’t so painful now, was it?”

“It depends on what you mean,” he said, quick to yank the mask Satin handed him--- black with dots of silver that reached down to wear his beard began---- over his head to try and hide his blush.

“What do you mean, Papa?” Naerys asked. “Don’t you think our lady mother looks pretty?”

“Of course, Sweetling,” Jon said, pausing to smile at his daughter as Satin helped him into his high-necked black and silver doublet. “How could anyone looking at her think otherwise?”

Sansa smirked. “Children, close your eyes now. Jon, make sure they don’t peek.”

They did as told. Jon even turned his back to watch them as Bridget brought Sansa’s gown out.

Their last two children, Brandon and Aemon, were born two years ago, a birth that almost cost Sansa her life. After she recovered, Sansa decided that she wished to become more athletic and outdoorsy. She needed to spend more time out in the world and less time at a desk, and it seemed prudent now that she had three boys and an athletic girl to raise. The increased physical activity did wonders for her health overall, not to mention for her figure. She felt quite proud of herself, seeing her body in such condition after having five children.

And thus, for this occasion, Sansa felt far more comfortable than she normally would choosing the most scandalous costume within reason. Normally, she opted for more modest attire, but tonight, she wasn’t the Northern princess. She was the sun. 

The gown was a confection of the lightest yellow, orange, and red silk embroidered in gold. It was as un-Northern as one could get, with it’s severely plunging neckline, slits in the back and side, flowing multi-layered skirts, and lack of sleeves. In place of proper sleeves, Sansa had lengths of yellow and gold fabric flowing from her shoulders.

Sansa ducked behind a dress screen with her maid to remove her breast-band. The gown had a very supportive bodice.

It wasn’t a cheap garment by any means, but Sansa had given herself permission for tonight’s festivities to be a little extravagant. She’d been looking forward to a masque for years, and they were hosting some very important dignitaries from the east. And frankly, she wanted one night where she could feel young again. Truly young. Her youth had been stolen from her, her teenage years spent escaping and being tormented by enemies, enduring winter, fighting wars, sheltering freezing smallfolk, rebuilding kingdoms, raising children, and enduring the unwanted physical attention. Since then, it was co-ruling an empire, building a family, advising monarchs, and recovering from all that had occurred during the years meant to be her maidenhood. Her whole life was duty.

 _But I have helped rebuild the North and keep Westeros in peace and prosperity for years, I have given my husband a clever daughter and three strong sons to be our heirs, and no one can doubt everything I’ve done for this empire. I deserve one night of frivolity. Wearing ridiculous, beautiful clothes and baubles, dancing, eating sweets, gossiping, and flirting with a handsome young man I desire._ Sure, that young man was her husband, but Sansa hardly felt it mattered. All that meant was that she could have him at the end of the night without a shred of guilt or worry over honor or reputation.

Bridget laid out a box of gems on a side table and Sansa began putting them on as her maid laced her into the gown. Two arm bracelets and a collar necklace--- gold and fire opals like her circlet. 

The whole set was a gift from the city of Qarth. Officially the set was in honor of the twins’ birth, but really, it was one gift among a large haul of gifts to the entire royal family meant to make amends as the Targaryen empire continued to endure in peace and prosperity.

They’d been almost as generous with Sansa as they were with Daenerys after an awful diplomatic mission they’d made to Westeros. Having a rudimentary knowledge of Westeros marriage customs and basically no knowledge of the political hierarchy of the country, the Qartheen emissaries had mistaken Sansa as being little more than a glorified concubine rather than a top government advisor, Mistress of the Court, and a Lord Paramount in her own right. Thus, they’d been unspeakably rude, dismissive, and harshly critical and ungracious to the point of nearly causing the princess to have a nervous breakdown. By the end of their visit, Sansa had found herself so miserable and exhausted that her husband snatched her away from court to take her to Dorne for a few weeks to relax. Unbeknownst to Sansa, while they were away, Daenerys wrote a furious letter to the Thirteen letting them know under no uncertain terms exactly who their diplomats had abused. 

The jewels were just one of many shiny results of that letter.

She’d worn the circlet and necklace before, but being prone to wearing sleeves, she’d not yet worn the arm bands. Having the ornate swirls of gold (shaped like flames) on her arms was an odd but not unwelcome sensation. They made her feel oddly powerful. _Is this what it is like to be Arianne Martell?_

“Oh, Your Grace!” Bridget gasped once everything was applied.

“Everyone, keep your eyes closed! You too, husband!” She called out gaily as she stepped into a pair of brocade slippers. She came out from behind the screen to find her husband squatting on the floor with the children, covering his eyes. Satin had his back turned. 

Sansa went in front of the full length mirror. She nearly gasped as well. _Fire and Blood._ Perhaps her attire was not so bloody--- though her soaked surcoats from her war days more than made up for that--- but fire was everywhere. Though her red hair--- a trademark of hers--- was on full display, Sansa hardly knew herself. This woman was fire itself, exotic and glowing. _I truly am the sun._

She looked over at her husband, now fully dressed in black and silver, with even a silver-studded, twinkling black cape. Squatted as he was, it was hard to fully appreciate, but she was eager to see it properly. So she grinned, turned, and bid them to look.

Jon stood and a round of cries went up. The children ran to her at once, dancing around her and chattering. Jon just stood stock-still. Sansa grinned and winked at him as she laughingly bid her children to be careful with the fabric.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in the whole world, Mama,” Robb told her. She laughed and kissed his head.

“Alright, you two got to see us dressed up,” she said to them, “Time for bed.”

“But we didn’t see Aunt Dany!”

Sansa sighed. “Alright, No’Ather can take you to see Aunt Dany in her costumes, but then it is straight to bed, understand?”

They nodded and they said their goodnights.

With them gone, Sansa surveyed her husband, standing straight and proper. There was certainly far more black than silver, but enough was there for the effect to be clear. Jon did look like the night sky--- not above King’s Landing, where the stars were obscured by smog and such, but like the night’s sky above the Northern wilderness. Sansa felt a stirring in her belly, looking at him. As much as she teased her husband for his predisposition for dressing like he was still a Night’s Watch Brother, she couldn’t deny it made him look so very striking sometimes. When her husband made an effort (or when he relented and allowed his wife to make the effort for him as the case usually was), he looked every bit the legendary prince.

Sansa nearly ordered Satin and Bridget out, forgot the ball, and flung herself into his arms right then and there. 

It was clear from the way Jon’s mouth twisted and his grey eyes glinted from behind his mask that he wanted her to do exactly that. _I truly am aflame. So is he._

But she didn’t do that. Despite her lusts, she knew she wanted this night of pageantry and fun. She wanted a night like the ones she dreamt of as a girl. So instead of flinging herself at him, she walked towards him, smiling, and let him take her arm. “Shall we, Husband?”

Jon wet his lips before speaking. “Yes, Wife.”

Their fingers intertwined as they made their way from the bedchamber. Jon’s hands seemed so very warm. Sansa felt so very aware then of just how much of her bosom was exposed. While before she’d felt nervous about it---- what if she was going too far?--- now she felt nothing but pride and excitement. Sure, after so many children they required more support than they once did, but the gown worked well enough that they were high and proud.

 _Still, I’d rather have them bare, with those lips upon them,_ Sansa thought, looking at Jon’s mouth. He kept wetting his lips, and she knew he was thinking the same. Jon very, very much enjoyed her teats and was likely more familiar with them than all four of their children combined. She’d stopped nursing the twins over a year ago. But with every period of nursing, Sansa couldn’t help but laugh at how oddly jealous her husband could get. More nights than not, there tended to be a little race between them to see who could rest their head upon the other’s chest first.

They stopped into the nursery for a second to look in on the twins in their cradles. Brandon and Aemon slept peacefully. Sansa bent down to kiss both their little heads before they departed. Jon held her a bit closer when they left.

“I love watching you with them,” he told her, “You’re so loving.” 

If those words were said to her by anyone else, Sansa would have laughed and pointed out the obvious fact of her being their mother. But she knew where her husband’s words came from. It was the same place where his free and easy affection with their children--- considered odd for a lordly father--- came from. These came from the heart of a man who had grown up without a mother’s love. Eddard Stark was a loving man, but he wasn’t very free with physical affection or tender words, especially not to his sons past a certain age. Most of the open affection Sansa knew growing up came from her lady mother, affection which all the Stark children enjoyed. Jon, however, did not get that.

It was why he’d surrendered his position as the Queen’s Hand to Willas Tyrell when Naerys was three, shocking everyone in the realm. It was why Naerys and Robb often went to sleep every night giggling and happy from the hugs and wet raspberries to the tummy their father gave them. It was why her husband, who had never been scholarly in the least, made bi-weekly trips to the library so he always had new books to read to his children. Why she often entered her bedchamber to find her husband at his desk with a tiny person in his lap, or on the bed being climbed, crawled on, and wrestled by several at once.

It was also why she’d surrendered the position of Warden of the North to Arya years ago, why she made sure to take at least an hour of her day to watch and cheer her children on in the yards and another to go over their studies with them.

“Well, I have to keep up with you, don’t I?” She asked him, getting on her toes and lifting his mask somewhat to kiss his cheek. She felt his cheeks burn as she did.

They got to the end of the royal wing to find Daenerys there, smiling at them. Barristan, Missandei, and Podrick were with her as always. Barristan was in his kingsguard white as always, but everyone else was in a mask. Pod had a bronze wire horse mask on and wore robes of brown velvet. Missandei was dressed as an exotic bird with emerald and amethyst feathers adorning her robes.

Daenerys, as planned, was the moon. Sansa and Dany had gone to the same dressmaker for their costumes, planning them similarly. Dany likewise was coated in silvery white paint, though her gown was asymmetrical and one shouldered, all cloth of silver. Her mask only cover one eye and was crescent shaped, covering the left edge of her face. Silver jewelry studded with white opals adorned her arms, neck, and head while her silver-gold hair flowed freely. 

Dany came over and kissed Sansa’s cheeks, and the proper compliments were all exchanged within the group. 

“You look like fire itself,” the queen remarked to the princess, “Very appropriate.” 

They adjourned to the Great Hall, and at once were caught up in the flurry of shimmering multi-colored silks and jewels. The smells of rich, spiced food hit Sansa’s nose just as the music filled her ears. Loreza and Dorea Sand, dressed as minor Rhoynish gods, hurried over at once to exclaim over their costumes. Loreza begged a dance and Sansa could not bring herself to refuse. As they went into a twirling waltz, Loreza excitedly explained the name and story of the god she was dressed as--- Syranna, goddess of fish, daughter of Mother Rhoyne, who was led away from the waters of the river by the trickster god tempting the goddess with a golden chord. 

After the first dance, Sansa begged a break to get some wine, already thrilled with the proceedings. Everything--- from the attire of the servants, to the music, to the guest turnout, to the food, was exactly as she planned.

It didn’t take long for Margaery and Edmure, her aunt and uncle, to find her. The two were dressed as Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones. Margaery immediately poured Sansa a large cup of Arbor Gold---- she’d helped plan the pageant and knew how much Sansa had worked to make it all perfect. “You see the fruits of your labor. It’s magnificent.”

While those in the closest inner circle---- The Kingsguard, the Small Council, the Sands--- seemed to recognize Sansa at once, to her pleasure she found that there were plenty who did not realize her identity.

At one point, after a few cups of wine, Sansa hung back to watch and laugh as a buoyant and teasing Myranda Royce Mallister led her blushing husband through a jig. She’d not yet danced with her husband, feeling it a bit to risky given their high spirits and just how good her spouse looked. But she enjoyed watching Jon when he was dragged out onto the floor. He was never a great dancer, but he had improved in recent years when Sansa finally insisted upon it. Balls and banquets were too much a part of court life for him to be as hopeless at it as he once was. She could still see his lips move as he counted under his breath, but he wasn’t fumbling or staring at the ground.

As she watched, leaning against a wall, cup in hand, a young man clad in purple and blue approached her, also carrying a cup which he was already starting to spill a little as he moved. Though Sansa couldn’t see too much of his face behind his mask, she judged him to be between seventeen and twenty years. He wore a large satin cloak and on his head was blue and purple motley with silver bells. Light tin ringmail hung over his doublet. It jingled as much as the bells when he made her a deep bow.

“Sweet Lady, may I ask your name?”

Up until that point, Sansa suspected that most of the people who claimed not to recognize her were just humoring her. But there was something about this one. Perhaps it was the way his green eyes went up and down her with a narrowed gaze, or the eagerness in his voice. He was clearly very young, if the smoothness of his shaven skin was anything to go by.

Sansa laughed. “Can’t you tell? I am the sun. I would think that even Florian the Fool would know the sun when he sees it.”

“No, I meant--- Which lady are you? What House? From where? I’ve never seen you before, I’m sure I’d know if I had. Beauty like yours is not easily forgotten.”

Sansa recognized his voice then. Ser Ellis Errol, the eldest son of Lord Sebastion of Haystack Hall. He’d come to court two moons prior after being anointed. Despite his knighthood, he was far more interested in girls than blades, and spent more time playing at being a bard than practicing in the yards. While Ser Ellis was a notorious flirt, he tended to maintain a respectful distance from married women. Sansa had caught him looking at her and others before, but he’d never approached her.

“It’s not?”

Ser Ellis did a double take. His mouth split into a great grin and a glint came to his eyes. She could smell the Dornish Red on his breath. “My Lady, are you new to court?”

“What makes you think that?” The Mistress of the Court asked.

“As I said, beauty like yours is not easily forgotten. And you seem a bit shy. Perhaps you might benefit from a more experienced courtier showing you around during your first function? This can be a treacherous place, you know, especially for gentle, lovely maidens like yourself.”

 _Well, my gown’s offering my bosom even more support than I thought._ Sansa tried not to laugh. “Is my experience that obvious?”

“You may be dressed as fire itself, but the maidenly innocence shines through those lovely blue eyes of yours.” Ser Ellis offered her his arm.

Intrigued, Sansa took it and let him lead her towards some of the banquet tables. 

“What did you say your name was?” Ser Ellis asked.

“I didn’t.”

He stopped short and gave her a serious look. “Names count for much here, My Lady.” 

“And yet you’ve neglected to give me yours.” 

“Ser Ellis Errol, heir to Haystack Hall. And you…?” 

“Alayne Arryn, of Gulltown.” She wanted to see how much history the boy might know.

“Alayne. What a beautiful name. But how can you be an Arryn? House Arryn is gone.”

“Not the Arryns of Gulltown,” she insisted, “We’re a branch House. The Arryns of the Eyrie are gone now, that’s true. The Hunters who rule it now assume the name, but they’re not truly Arryns.”

“It’s a wonder you weren’t given the Eyrie.”

“My father feels the same way,” Sansa complained, “But the votes of lords there outbid us and gave the Eyrie to Gilwood Hunter. Father says we have the Princess Sansa to blame.”

“You should be careful, I’m about to introduce you to some of my friends. Two of the princess’s wards are among them,” warned the heir to Haystack Hall, “And talk against the princess is not well-liked at court otherwise. She’s well loved.”

“Is she?”

“Yes,” said Ser Ellis, nodding. Then he leaned closer and winked, “But if you wish to hear a secret, Sweet Alayne… She’s not deserving of it.”

“Oh? I’ve heard she is beautiful, virtuous, and clever.”

“Oh, they say that because she’s royal and has given the prince many sons. But next to a beauty like you, she’s nothing. And her virtue is overrated. She didn’t go to her royal marriage bed a maid. In fact, the gossip is that once, before her wedding, she was even caught with a man in the council chamber. She’s an old harlot, really. An uppity, frigid sow as cold as that frozen wasteland she hails from.”

Sansa marveled at what could be remembered and forgotten over the course of six years. She giggled. _Poor fool. You have earned your motley._

Ser Ellis’s hand slipped down to her hip. “I can tell you’re not frigid at all, though, are you? You’re sweet and warm and lovely.”

“You’ll have to find out,” replied Sansa, pointedly taking his hand and putting it in its proper place. Ellis cleared his throat and nodded.

“Now come, I’ll introduce you to the _real_ power players at court.” Ser Ellis led her towards a group of youths. Loreza and Dorea were among them. When Sansa arrived, she gave them a significant look. Both girls stifled giggles and kept their mouths shut as Ser Ellis smugly introduced the group of squires, knights, and minor ladies to “The Lady Alayne of Gulltown, newly arrived to court.”

A number of the fresh-faced young men seemed quite taken with the Lady Alayne, offering her Arbor Gold and other refreshments. A dance was requested from one Ser Francel, but Ser Ellis grabbed Sansa’s arm again and declared the first dance was promised to him.

“Was it?” She asked him.

“You took my arm, did you not?” 

“Is that a promise?”

“It’s as good as one,” insisted the knight.

“Well, you’ll have to wait for me to keep it,” Sansa said sourly. She implored some of the knights to tell tales of their victories at tourneys. As the various young men puffed out their chests and told exaggerated tales of their valor, Sansa exchanged looks with the Sand Snakes and they all descended into giggles. Their companions took the laughter as that born of excitement rather than hilarity, and continued on, unaware. They seemed too caught up in staring at “Alayne’s” chest.

Before long, though, Sansa grew bored. These were young folk, young folk who were protected enough during the wars and winter that they failed to know the true horrors of it. Sansa begged leave, which Ser Ellis took as an invitation to dance. He grabbed her arm and hauled her away against the protests of the others.

“You don’t want to suffer their company, I understand, a bunch of silly braggarts like them… They can’t offer you what I can. I’m a great poet, you know.”

“Are you?”

“Aye. Since I saw you, I’ve been making up rhymes in my head, verses praising you and your beauty.”

“I’d like to hear them.”

“Come out to the gardens with me after this dance, and you’ll hear them all and more. I could spend the rest of my days singing of your loveliness if you’d let me.”

 _You poor soul._ Sansa was almost starting to feel guilty.

Ellis leered at her. “But I could give you a couple of lines.”

At that he leaned over and began whispering a vivid piece of imagery comparing her nipples to strawberries.

It was at this point that Jon came over, his eyes narrowed. “Young Ser, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Leading this good lady to a dance, My Lord---?”

Jon’s eyes widened. He glanced at Sansa, then back at Ellis. “Snow.”

Sansa watched as Ellis’s face became one of derision. “Well, Lord _Snow_ , if you don’t mind, those of us trueborns have dancing to get to. Not that some rustic, brutish Northern bastard could understand such an activity.”

“Oh?” Jon said, stepping in front of Ellis when the boy went to move. “I think I do.”

The young knight looked him up and down. “What, you think just because you tricked some poor moneyed sod with frozen brains to buy you some fine robes you think you’re high up enough to stand against an anointed knight?”

“You are very rude, Ser Ellis,” admonished Sansa. Her guilt dissipated.

“Sweet lady, please, cads like this must be dealt a firm hand.”

“Speaking of firm hands,” Jon said, noting Ellis’s ever tightening grip upon Sansa’s wrist, “Yours is a bit too firm. Remove it.”

“I realize you’re jealous, Bastard, but you’re not going to be stealing ladies from trueborn knights any time soon. Lovely ladies like this one here are meant for your betters. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” 

Sansa had had enough. Casting a warning look to her husband as his hand went to Longclaw’s hilt, she tried to pull away. “You’ll not do well choosing dirty Northern bastards over trueborn knights, My Lady! Don’t let the nice clothes fool you, he’s a nothing from nowhere. Taking his side can only hurt your standing here!”

He gripped her arm even harder and pulled at her. Done playing gently, Sansa drove the heel of her slipper into his instep. He yelped and loosened his grip and she pulled away. Sansa moved beside her husband, who put a protective arm around her waist. 

“You’re choosing him? Instead of an anointed knight? He’s probably a bloody wildling, for pity’s sake! Bitch!”

“May I stab him now, Sweetling?” Jon asked. Sansa laid a gentle hand upon his where it rested on Longclaw’s pommel.

“He’s just a boy, Jon.”

“Jon? What do you---?” Ellis looked back and forth between them.

“I think he might be starting to catch on,” remarked Jon dryly.

“Let’s give him a few more hints, shall we?” She suggested. She pulled her hand and Jon’s from atop Longclaw’s hilt, exposing the pommel for all to see. She lifted her right hand then, and the silver direwolf signet ring glittered in the candlelight. “The answer to my identity was right in front of you the entire time. You were so focused on your dance and your poems that you didn’t even bother to notice this.”

Jon followed suit, exposing the gold dragon ring on his hand. Ser Ellis paled and stepped back.

“My… My apologies, Your Grace. Please, I beg your forgiveness. I am much in my cups and… Oh gods…” He stared at Sansa. “I didn’t mean it. I swear!”

Sansa sighed and shook her head. “At Winterfell, we have hot springs. We pump the water from them into the walls of the castle to warm the rooms. It’s not frigid at all. And for the record, taking a man’s arm is not a promise for a dance. Nor is it ever advisable to grip a lady that tightly. You ask for a dance, Ser Ellis, you do not insist upon one. And you be careful what you say, for you never know who might hear you. Don’t ever, _ever_ call a woman a bitch or a sow. Spend more time observing what’s around you and less time coming up with rhymes. Take my advice as a true power player here at court. It’ll serve you well.”

She looked at Jon, “Come, My Love, I want you to dance with me.”

The musicians started up a slow moving waltz and she smiled. It gave her an excuse to move in close and allowed them to speak.

“You handled that idiot quite well,” her husband told her, smiling. “I believe I saw a bit of the red wolf come out.”

Sansa smiled and sighed. “Maybe a bit, but he didn’t need to see the full wolf. He’s just a stupid, drunk little boy.”

“He’s not that much younger than us.”

“He’s ten years younger than I am. Not too much younger, but enough for him to have been a boy, safe and sound within castle walls with his nurse during the wars.” There were some his age who had suffered in the wars, but one could tell those who knew those horrors from those who didn’t quite easily. The ones who did know wouldn’t dare get so drunk in the middle of King’s Landing. Nor would they act so clueless and entitled. _The knights of summer,_ _that’s what my lady mother called them._

“Did he hurt you?”

“Not at all. He didn’t even hurt my pride. He mistook me for a maiden fresh to court, in fact.”

“You’re as lovely as any maiden here, so it’s no surprise,” Jon told her, eyes twinkling behind his mask

Sansa leaned forward and inhaled his scent. Freshly dug earth, leather, wood, sweat, and home. “Mmmm, thank you, Darling. I like to think I’m still able to draw the eye.”

“There’s been nary an eye that can keep itself off you all night. I certainly haven’t been able to think of anyone else. Though I’ll admit, seeing you with all those puffed up knights…”

She looked up at him and smiled. “I had to distract myself from you. Every time I look at you tonight, it’s all I can do to keep myself from dragging you to some dark corner and…” She trailed off and let her eyes do the rest of the talking.

Jon grinned, his grip on her waist growing tighter as he ran his thumb up and down along the silk of her dress and the soft flesh beneath it. It felt so good.

“And here I was thinking I had competition.”

“Never, My Prince,” she told him, laughing. Then she stopped. “I’ll admit, though, it was nice to flirt a little like a maiden. I had such a little maidenhood. I was passed around so much. By the time I even knew how flirting worked, I was doing it as Alayne.”

She looked up at him. “What about you? Do you ever mourn your lost youth?”

“Sansa, we’re far from old.”

Of that she wasn't certain. What they lacked in years they more than made up for in bad memories. The dance came to an end. Jon considered her for a moment. “Let’s get some wine and go out to the gardens, alright?”

She nodded and let her husband lead her out. There were other people out there tonight, but they found a more private path and Sansa allowed herself to lean against him. “You were only fourteen when Father sent you to the Wall. You hadn’t even touched a woman yet. You were a boy.”

Jon sighed and rubbed her side. “It was hard sometimes, I’ll admit. Especially those first few months. And then after I returned from being with the Wildlings. And when… Who am I kidding? Yes, all of it was miserable. There were a few moments, though. Sometimes laughing with the lads. Then when I first set out with Qorin Halfhand and the other rangers… I was so proud, so excited to be one of them. And some of those times with Ygritte, when I could forget my duty and my vows and just…”

He stopped then and looked at her. “Forgive me, I---“

Sansa swallowed. She didn’t like hearing about Ygritte too much. It wasn’t jealousy. Sansa knew about Jon and Val, and she’d spent many a happy hour in the Magna’s company since then. It was anger. Ygritte used the danger to get Jon to join her in her furs, to prove he’d forsaken his vows. Then later she’d put arrows in his back and tried to kill him and his brothers. Jon saw Ygritte as this romantic lost love, and Sansa didn’t want to take that from him. A dead woman was no threat to her. But she’d once been a threat to Jon. And Sansa didn’t like people who hurt the people she loved. 

 _Still, she’s a fond memory. Let him have that._ She smiled. “Nothing to forgive. Keep going.”

“Just enjoy being with someone. Just enjoy learning. Just enjoy love. When you’re surrounded by ice and snow, it’s nice to have someone to keep you warm. And she made me feel young. In all sorts of ways. Not just because she made me happy, or because I loved her. She made me feel stupid, too. She made sure I knew that I knew nothing. And in a way, it was nice. Being treated like I had time to learn instead of being expected to just do things and handle things. I’ll tell you, it wasn’t going to the Wall that did it. It was being named Lord Commander. Gods… I was trying so hard to be a man. To be a lord like father. To be a father to my men. Can you imagine? I was six-and-ten! Father to my men!”

“I was a mother at three-and-ten. To Sweetrobin. He came to my room one night after his mother died and asked me if I was his new mother. I told him yes. Two years later I had a babe of my own.” Her heart ached for Eddie. “A babe at the breast, a blade in my hand, an army at my back, a husband in my bed, and a new father reaching under my skirts.”

“I had a bunch of criminals to control, an army of monsters at my door, a king breathing down my neck, castles to man, people to relocate, a wall to rebuild, and blades at my throat.”

Sansa clutched at the front of his shirt and lifted her mask. “I wish I’d been there. I’d never have let them lay a hand on you.”

 Jon chuckled. “That’s probably true, in a way. You’d have been following behind me, keeping me from infuriating everyone. ‘Jon, you can’t make Satin your squire, you have to choose someone that will earn you support with the men who don’t like you’, ‘Jon, you need to take your meals with the men and tell them about your plans and at least pretend to consider their council’, ‘Jon, you’re making everyone very angry, can’t you see that?’, ‘Jon, you need to show this letter to Bowen Marsh and the others, not Tormund Giantsbane’. And when people did get mad at me, you’d have probably sat them down and charmed them all into listening to me. I bet you would have even held court for me, listening to all the grievances like a little lady.”

“I don’t know, I was still learning at the time. But maybe… I’d have helped at least delay things. I’d have become Stannis’s Stark pawn. Not Petyr’s.” Her heart ached to think of it. _I could have had a septa or a master inspect me to prove my virginity. Prove I wasn’t a Lannister. He’d have used me to gain the Northern support he needed. Maybe I could have helped Jon. Or poor Jeyne._

Jeyne Poole hadn’t survived the trek to Castle Black. She’d lost her nose to frostbite and the wound became infected. When Sansa finally made it to Winterfell, she met the spearwives that had rescued Jeyne and they led her to the grave they’d made for “Arya Stark”. Sansa demanded to see the body. She knew looking at the corpse that it wasn’t Arya. Too tall. All wrong. She knew. It was only later, when she heard some of the lords tell her about the fake Arya and she looked into some of Petyr’s paperwork after he died that she remembered him promising Queen Cersei to find a place for Jeyne “outside the city” when the household was arrested. Sansa found some old letters about providing a girl from Winterfell. And she knew. She buried Jeyne Poole again, under a proper marker, in the godswood.

 _That was youth lost. All of us. Robb, Bran, Rickon, Arya, Jeyne, Jon, Sam, me, Sweetrobin…_ She sighed and wiped the budding tears from her eyes. “It’s so sad. We all thought all these things. You thought you’d get to be a great hero or ranger among a noble order. A great adventurer. Bran wanted to be a knight. Robb a lord. I was going to be a lady from a song. I thought every night would be like tonight, music and dancing and flirting and fun. You thought every day would be a heroic adventure.”

“They lied to us quite a bit, didn’t they?” Jon remarked. “No one really warned me what was waiting for me at the Wall. Father let me believe it was still a noble order filled with men like Uncle Benjen. I thought the Free Folk would be mad, stupid savages waving sticks around. No one told me that I was being shipped off to freeze and starve at the mercy of criminals, or told you that you were being sold off to treasonous monsters like livestock.” 

Sansa nodded. “It would have been nice,” she said sadly, “To have had a couple years of nights like this. So we could have truly been young for a while. I would have liked to have felt what it was like to be young.”

Jon looked down at her. “When I’m with you, I feel young.” 

She smiled softly. “I feel young with you, too. But then, you’re almost everything I dreamt of as a girl. I dreamt of nights like this, men like you, children like ours.”

“You see?” He grinned. “I’ll admit, this wasn’t exactly what I dreamt of all the time. But it was what I wanted. I realized it at the Wall at one point, when Stannis offered me Winterfell and Val and… I wanted Winterfell and a wife and family of my own, a son of my own blood that I could name Robb. Earlier, with Ygritte, I wanted to be able to take her to Winterfell and feast her in the great hall, give her a flower from the glass gardens, and make love in the godswood so the Old Gods could watch over us.”

 _Ygritte didn’t deserve Winterfell. She probably would have shot flaming arrows at it when she got the chance._ Sansa kept this to herself though. The dreams were sweet.

Jon kissed her forehead. “I’ve got a lot of what I dreamed about. I’ve got a beautiful wife, I’ve got a family, a daughter and three sons of my own blood, even a son named Robb. I’m a Stark in name, not a bastard. Winterfell is technically not my castle in name, but I married the right woman to make that inconsequential. A woman I can feast in the Great Hall, love in the godswood, and give flowers to.” He grinned and paused for a second by a rose bush. He plucked one of blooms from it and handed it to her before giving her another kiss, this one on the nose. Sansa giggled, snapping the thorns off the stem and stuffing the rose into her bodice.

“I don’t think we’ve lost all of our youth,” he told her, “And, you know, we’re still rather young. We’ve got many years left.”

 _I hope so._ “I’m not talking about years. What I mean is… That boy tonight. He said things to me that were so very, very stupid. His behavior was deplorable. If this were fourteen years ago, and he’d acted that way with Cersei, he’d have ended up with a severed head courtesy of the Kingslayer within the hour. But instead, he’s at our court. Which means most likely he’ll be sent back to his father’s keep for a couple of years in disgrace if I’m not satisfied with his apology tomorrow. And… When I was twelve years old, I trusted the wrong person and as a result I ended up a prisoner. You didn’t say the right things to the right people and you ended up bleeding in the snow at sixteen. Robb made some dumb mistakes and ended up slaughtered at his uncle’s wedding and losing his home to the Boltons. That Errol boy, he’s done something intensely stupid, and it’s going to be fine. No one will die. He can be stupid. We never could. That’s what I mean. We didn’t get to just get drunk and make some dumb moves and say things we shouldn’t to the wrong people. We didn’t get warnings or slaps on the wrists or minor humiliations. We got imprisonment, abuse, war, and death. It’s not right, Jon.”

He sighed. “No, it isn’t. You’re right. But there’s not much we can do about that now, is there? We just have to do better than they did. And I think we’re doing that. We can still be happy, right?”

Jon paused for a second. “Aren’t you happy?" 

Sansa could have sworn her heart stopped beating. She reached up and cupped his cheek. “Of course,” she whispered, “ _You_ make me happy. You and the children and Arya and Dany and Winterfell and the work we do. I’m sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean to make you think… Of course I am happy. I just have sad thoughts some times.”

He nodded and pulled off his mask. “You know what? Let’s go do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Let’s wash off all of this ridiculous paint---“

“---That doesn’t sound so---“

“----In the pond in the godswood. And I’ll make love to you there.” 

 _That would be what you’d want to do._ Jon had a particular inclination towards the risk of being seen mid-coitus. “Jon, this isn’t the night of a tourney when half the court is outside the city limits. The grounds are teaming with people who might come upon us.”

“Yes, it’s quite stupid. But at the same time, who are they to judge us? What would we be doing that is so wrong? We’re wed. We’ve been wed these past seven years. We have four children. We’d be in the domain of the gods of our ancestors. There are no rules saying we have to make love in our bed. If someone comes upon us, what will happen, really? You honestly think Daenerys will mind? She who made love to her husband for all the khalasaar to see? This is our home, everyone here is our guest, staying here at our leisure. We’d be doing nothing sinful, nothing harmful, nothing wrong.”

“They’ll see us. They’ll talk.”

“Let them talk. They talked when my handkerchief was found in the council chamber all those years ago.” 

“They’re still talking about that,” said Sansa, scowling.

“And yet somehow, we’re both still alive, you’re still the beloved Winter Princess, and I’m still the heroic Dragon Prince. We were stupid then. We can be a bit stupid now.”

She snorted. “You just want to tumble me in the open air.”

“And you don’t want me to?”

Even now she was having trouble not grinding her backside into his crotch. She could feel him stiffening against her through her skirts.

 _It’s the wine._ That’s what she’d say.

Sansa smiled. 

Several minutes later they were giggling, running by the pond and stripping off their clothes. Sansa made sure to fold the things they dropped and place them neatly by the roots of the Heart tree as Jon ran into the water, yelping at the cold and quickly running out. Sansa laughed at him.

He charged towards her, eyes glinting. “Don’t you laugh too much, Sweetling,” he said as he took her into his arms, “You know what cold does to a man. And if I get too cold, how will I be able to make you peak?”

Jon ground his hips, still enclosed in his smallclothes, into hers. “You want Balerion to come out, don’t you?” 

Despite the cold, his chest was hot. Sansa gasped at the contact. She took his hands in hers, kissed him, then put on of his hands on her breast and the other down between her legs so he could feel how her undersilk was wet. “You tell me.” 

She began trailing kisses down his neck as he answered. “I… I think you do.”

“Mmmmhmmm….” She smiled and reached between them to unlace his smallclothes. He gripped hers and yanked at them so roughly they tore straight off. Before she could protest, he seized her mouth with his, invading her mouth with his taste. She could detect the summerwine in his mouth. It was perfect. His cock came free and Sansa moved to push the cloth down his legs, getting to her knees. Jon stared down at her hungrily as he stepped out of them, towering over her. Sansa ran her hands back up his legs, feeling the coarse hair that coated them run under her fingertips, feeling the hard planes of muscle there. Her hands went behind him, and she grabbed his arse and squeezed, grinning. 

“You want me, you’ve got me.” He gasped. “I’m all yours. Only yours.”

She squeezed his arse again. _Mine. Mine._

Sansa smirked. Making love to this man would never be a mistake. She moved one hand between his legs and cupped his sack. Jon moaned. Sansa laughed. It was so easy to make him putty in her hands. Her hand moved to close around his shaft.

“Gods, Sansa!”

“They’re watching us, Jon.” Sansa smiled and laughed. Jon opened his eyes and laughed too.

“Then let’s give them a good show.”

His hands came down and he pulled her up before crouching down him. He gripped her thighs and pulled them apart. “Stand tall, Sweetling, make sure they can see you well when you peak. We have to give the gods a good show.”

“Jon, I---OH GODS!”

Usually Jon teased her a bit beforehand, licking at her outer lips, kissing a bit. But this time, he just pried her outer lips apart with his fingers, exposing her cleft, and latched onto it with his mouth at once, attacking it with his tongue. Sansa almost crumbled to the ground from the sheer shock of it, but Jon reached up and held her up by her arse. Sansa reached down and gripped her husbands hair, hard, leaning on him somewhat for support all while trying to get more. His other hand found her entrance and two fingers breached it, hooking themselves within her.

“Joooonnnnnn…. Gods…” Sansa forgot where they were. She forgot about lost youth and the court and war and stupid costumes. All that existed was this. His mouth. Her cunny. When her peak hit her, she nearly tore his hair out.

When he released her, chin dripping with her pleasure, she nearly fell back in a daze. Luckily, she collapsed against him when he stood instead. Sansa grinned at him like a fool and felt some semblance of muscular control return. She used it to fist the hair on his chest, find her footing, then push him back. “On the ground, Jon Targaryen. Your princess wants a dragon ride.”

In the back of her mind, she knew that later on she’d feel completely embarrassed for having said that. But at that moment, she didn’t care. Jon got on his back, grinning. Sansa grinned back as she fell to her knee, straddling him. She felt the tip prod her wet lips and groaned as she sunk herself onto him.

“Oh gods, finally!” Jon cried out. “Yes… Sweet Girl… My lovely Sansa… Yes… Fuck me, Sweetling. Take it. Ride me.”

Sansa smiled as she began to move her hips, finding a nice, careful rhythm at first. She leaned back, trying to angle herself so she could get him to hit… _There!_ Her steady rhythm was at once replaced with a mad bucking of her hip. She cried out his name. “Right there, Jon! That’s it! Right there!”

His hands went to her breasts, kneading and pinching them. Sansa felt wild, as wild as she’d ever been.

When her second peak came, Jon growled and flipped them over, withdrawing from her temporarily to get her on her hands and knees. “Let’s try for a third."

Sansa couldn’t really argue with that. Her arms felt weak, so she just cradled her head near the ground as he pounded into her. But then with one arm he pulled up against him. With the other, his hand snaked between her leg, forcing her leg up a bit to allow him to get deeper. He found that spot within her again, just as his fingers found her cleft and began working it. The other hand moved across her upper torso and found a breast.

“You like that, Sweetling?” He hissed.

Sansa responded by reaching back and fisting his hair once more. “Shut up and fuck me.”

That spurred him on until he was slamming her so hard. _I will probably be walking funny in the morning._ She turned her head and kissed him, wanting to feel attached to him in every way.

He broke away briefly. “It’s time for you to peak for me. Come, Sansa. Do it, Sweet Girl.” 

He pinched her cleft roughly. Sansa screamed out her third and final peak. Jon moaned. Sansa grinned as she felt his seed burst within her. It always felt so good, so very good. It was a safe feeling.

The two of them ended up collapsing, crumbling to the ground like rag dolls in a mass of sweaty limbs. It took a while before they could say anything. Or do anything. But once they finally were able to move, Sansa caught sight of her husband and descended into giggles.

"What?" He asked, wiping his upper lip. It didn't help his situation. 

"Jon.... You're covered in more gold than Casterly Rock!"

Both of them made the mistake of looking down. Gold smears covered him everywhere.  _Everywhere._

"Well," Jon said, wide-eyed, "Balerion's looking quite fine, isn't he?"

They laughed together, their heads dizzy from the wine and from each other.


End file.
